Cut Out Your Silver Tongue
by ClosetFanGrill
Summary: Days pass, weeks, years. The ache does not fade, the space does not close. Lyra and Pan have been dreaming.She wishes she could be strong, like Will...


**Cut out your silver tongue.**

**Disclaimer**: Most of the characters, most of the settings and most of the background story in this story are property of Phillip Pullman. Not me. pouts Basicaly, what you don't recognize from the books is probably some bizarre creation of mine, which, through some obscure copyright law somewhere, now belongs to Phillip Pullman too. Oo

**STUFF: This is really old… by a couple of years. Its possible I'll pick it up again once I re-read the books (magic, magic, genius books) but that's somehow doubtful. I hadn't read Lyra's Oxford at the time of writing either, not that it makes a whole lot of difference. Anyhu. I just wanted to share my drabble **

**Blurb**: This story revolves around Lyra, and how she copes (or rather, how she doesn't) with life without Will. This is set two years after the events of The Amber Spyglass, does not take Lyra's Oxford into account, and is being written a year since I last re-read the books… yeah. And my mum, god love 'er, car booted my coppies of the books (DEMON!) So I can't check to see how accurate the details are… apologies ;;

**You can catch me while I'm sleepin' darlin'**

**Maybe while I'm dreamin too - Pink  
**

****

"Lyra the liar. Lyra the liar, sing me a silver lullaby. Lull me deep, into grey, heavy sleep, on your wicked silver lyre."

She was alone, surrounded by stony shadows of dusty angelic demons. They muttered loudly behind their taloned hands. She drew a gasping breath, and shook her head, stinging eyes streaming. She could not-

"Sing

me a lie with your silver tongue, while I lay down to sleep. Play me a lie on your wicked lyre, and I shall lay down and

weep."

Choking up the oily mist smothering her from the inside out she struggled from her strangled sleep, wriggling free of the dark tendrils wrapped tight around her wrists, ankles, belly, throat- "Lyra the liar" Echoed the whispered jeers as she fled towards the temporary sanctuary of consciousness.

But she was lost, lost in the web. Couldn't see past the matted red veil of lies that she had wrapped so tightly round herself for protection, to ward off the evils of the world. "Yes, yes I'm okay. I'm fine… Give me a minute, I'll be alright." lies, thick, heavy, rancid lies that fell so naturally from her lips tangled round her neck, her hands, her ankles as she fled from the truth, the wicked painful truth, and tripped her. 'No. Not yet, you wont take me-' Even thinking it to herself, she sounded weak. She felt weaker.

She fell, and could not reach out to catch herself, or to break her awkward fall. Her head cracked its greeting to the ground as it met. Tell them stories. Don't tell them lies, tell them stories, tell them stories. Remember to tell them stories, she thought hazily. She sucked on her tongue and spat blood and bile. She would not cry, she would not-

"Who will come

mourn

by you

pyre

Lyra?" the voices questioned, urgently. Was that genuine concern? She panicked then, struggling, writhing against the bloody bonds, alive now, pulling her deeper, deeper into the ebony depths of the… dream? Gods she hoped so. But she had been so many places, seen so many things… what if every other dream had been an ill omen, a premonition? What if this nightmare was waking?

She burst from under the surface of the murky water. "-Aan!" She sobbed, "Pan!"

"I know, I know…" The little ermine huddled closer to her breast, and she hugged him tight and curled her trembling fingers into his white chocolate fur.

"Mm. Make it stop…? Can't you make them go away, Pan?" Lyra sighed resignedly and giggled, weakly, wincing as the pathetic noise crept to her ears. Resigned dark humour brought her little comfort. She would not cry. She would be strong… strong like Will. "Ugh…" she sniffed her self disgust.

"That was very articulate of you, well, considering it_ is_ three in the morning."

"Less cheek."

"Ditto." He retorted, and tucked his damp nose under her chin, and nudged her till her head tilted back and up. "Chin up kiddo." His warm voice showed cracks.

"Pan… I'm hardly a child anymore." Lyra smiled down at her deamon, lying on her side, and curling up around him, pulling the downy covers over her head, to shut out the cruel night. "What would I do without you, hm?"

"Well for starters-"

"Rhetorical question, Pan."

"I know." He grinned at her, with familiar, fond mischievousness.

"I miss Will." Lyra spoke to the twilight.

"… I know."

They did not sleep.

"Be strong like Will- Be strong like Will-!" She breathed against the darkness, the mantra becoming an almost solid barrier, shielding her from the spectral attackers. Weighty waves of nausea beating down of her from above.

"Dearest, dearest Lyra." The musical name melted from his lips like chocolate. He licked them and smiled, tearing dried skin with the unfamiliar expression. Midsummer's heat, and tears cried into sweat, sweat bled into blood. He furiously drove the point of to paper, scribbling with needless haste. For who would delay him? Who would be looking for him, now he had driven even Mary far away? He was alone, and he hated it, but he would let no one close. Because no one was Lyra.

"What is this power you hold over me, Silver tongue, hm? My little witch? Have you cast a spell on me?" A rasping cry escaped his abused lips. "Gooods! How I hate you!" The young mans demon hissed and spat acid beside him.

"Oh, oh no, please. There must be a better way, we can find it, we just have to be patient! Don't you think I'm hurting too? Don't you think I miss her as much as you do him? Don't be so stupid-" came his voice, small but demanding.

"Hush!" she urged. "Hush now. I'll hear no more. I'm ready now Pan, its time, I can't wait any longer."

The Ermine simply gazed at her, numb, devoid of feeling, his usually bright eyes where dull. He hung his head in resign, and his face hardened, the picture of acceptance. He curled himself around her ankles where she stood, in the middle of the room.

"I hate you." she said. A shiver traveled along her spine, chilling her previously warm body. "You had a chance to live. Why did you waste it so? Bitch…" She said to the sallow faced girl standing opposite her, and fixed her with a piercing, criticizing stare. She studied her adversary's every feature. Drinking in and memorizing every sickening detail with scorn. Her chestnut locks handing limp about her shoulders, framing her face and the sallow skin pulled taunt around, neck and collar bone. She watched with avid horror as the girl removed her shirt, and suppressed the wave of nausea that threatened as she let it fall away from her fragile body to reveal her painfully lean stomach, the top of her hips, that jutted at a dangerously sharp angle from her body and most of all, her breasts, wasting away into nothingness. She raised her hand, yellowing talons bared, and scratched at her own translucent white flesh, watching the other girl mimic her movements. Her lips formed a twisted, crooked sneer, as she spat at her. "Bitch." she repeated, louder than before and with such venom her mouth tastes bitter with it. "I _hate _you!"

Her fist connected with the girls face, and the mirror split in two before tumbling from its wooden frame and shattering on the naked floor boards and gliding over the polished surface. A single tear of bitter frustration escaped the corner of her welling eyes, and slid down her cheeks to adorn her chin, before tumbling to the floor.

She is all alone now. She was always alone. Pan? He was part of her. She hated herself for doing this to him… but she couldn't go on feeling so incomplete. The Aletheometre had spoken to her, so clearly: "Never in this lifetime."

"Never in this lifetime…" she repeats, staring, stunned into nothingness. Pan flinched at her words, then recoiled from her as if physically wounded. He climbed onto the bed and buried his face in his paws.

She bent down, musing over the splintered pieces of broken glass, catching the occasional glimpse of her nemesis, pausing momentarily before choosing a particularly viciously pointed shard and sweeping it up with her slender dexterous fingers.

Numb to the sting of the glass pins buried in the soles of her bare feet she padded over to the bed and lay back, leisurely on pillows resting against the icy head bored of her cast iron bed. By the warm, comforting light of the candles, she drove the glass into her thigh, and began the blood letting. Pain drowned in the adrenaline and endorphins that coursed through her body, and she smiles weakly, unable to resist, the relief is so tremendous.

She drew short sharp breaths as she allowed the clear blade to glide across her left breast and through her paper thin skin. The blood, rich, precious blood flowed with consistency of liquid chocolate onto the bed spread, ivory as her skin, and the drops that make their way from that steady stream to fall upon the snowy linen sheets blossom like roses.

In an odd way, it occurred to Pan, who braved the sight, it was eerily beautiful. "I shall not do you the dishonor of looking away.

Her heart beat against its cage, and her pupils dilated so dramatically that the iris appears devoid of them. Beads of perspiration jeweled her forehead like a delicate silver circlet set on the brow of some fair princess, or dew on the morning grass. She began to feel cold, the room itself began to melt and fall into hazy grey. She turned her attention to her wrists. The blood flowed freely in synchronization with the slowing beat of her heart and the tears that escaped her eyes to travel down her throat and down to caress her heaving chest.

They where fading.

The snowy white ermine looked up at her with face empty of fear though full of uncertainty, riddled with sorrow, and a resolute half smile playing across its face. He heaved him self, little legs shaking under his own weight, across the bed from where it lay watching. It curled around her delicate throat, and closed its eyes till it felt her fingers wind themselves into his fur.

She opened her eyes to gaze directly into his as her vision became increasingly blackened, and his for became gradually less solid. All they saw was love. Adoration. For each other, and for them.

Darkness enveloped, and oblivion welcomed her.

They relished the silence.

Lyra was aware. A miracle in itself. She was aware of the downy soft touch of… of what she is not sure. She felt the delicate touch of, what she supposed was another's hand on her cheek, thumb caressing it.

"Lyra. Lyra, awake, Lyra." spoke a voice. It was so warm. So comforting. Like a mothers voice should sound, cooing to her baby, Lyra thought. It took awhile for Lyra to acknowledge the voice, allow it to register, let alone respond.

"No, no god no… not now, I've waited so long for this, for the darkness, please don't take me back…" she mutters, quietly, surprised she had the strength to do so, considering the circumstances.

"I shan't take you back. I will take you some place new. Deeper into the darkness. Yet closer to the light." there was a pause.

Lyra felt hot tears spill from under her closed eyelids and roll down her cheeks. The sensation was oddly unfamiliar, Lyra noted.

"Open your eyes. Tell me what you See." The voice invited with tender tones, not demanding anything of her. Lyra opened her hazel eyes wide, only to snap them closed again, to shield against the brilliant golden light they met, and she had expected to offend them. Soon, she realized it had not, and gingerly allowed her eyes to drink in the gentle radiant beauty of Dust that surrounded her.

"Angels, oh dear god, your angels…" She reached out a hand in front of her and attempted to caress the cheek of one of these splendid beings before her. She found, to her surprise, she could not, in fact see it against the flesh of those around her. She stared down at herself, into the endless stream of Dust that surrounded her, as if she were drowning in it, and found that she too was composed of that most precious of all things, Dust. "Oh- my- but why?" she cried to them, "Why me of all people?"

"Hush child." came a voice, though she found she could not locate its position. It was as if it came from all of them… perhaps even from herself. You have been granted a second chance. A chance to do the good you where destined to do."

She felt so safe there. Completely surrounded by… others. By dust. Purity. Life itself. She felt entirely connected to it, She gazed into the fathomless mass of forever moving golden light, it was as if it where the mothers womb, and smiled. Tears still falling unchecked from her eyes.

**It's a lonely, lonely, lonely place for me baby**

**It must be lonely for you, too - Pink**

He was alone. He could sense it… or rather, he couldn't. Her presence was absent from his side… this had never happened before. Perhaps something terrible had happened? Perhaps she was hurt, or trapped, unable to escape, or maybe she was late, or… his mind raced.

Maybe… he had never really felt her there at all, maybe she was sitting on the bench right now! Close enough to touch, but infinity away! And it wasn't really possible to sense her at all! It had just his desperate delusional mind compensating for the aching hole in his heart- Well. It was easier to believe that than the alternative- that

Perhaps she had just moved on.

Will had always been able to tell when she was there. He could almost reach out and touch her. It was endlessly frustrating, being so comfortingly close, yet so unbearably far apart. Every year for the past four years, he had endured thing bitter sweet, twisted form of torture. Not knowing where to place his emotions, whether to bask in the beautiful serene feeling that Lyra induced when near, or wallow in the sickeningly heartache felt when they where… worlds apart.

"Lyra," he whispered to the sweet midsummer's evening, "Lyra where are you? What's wrong?" His Deamon sat draped over his shoulders, her eyes wide with worry, and her claws embedded in Will's shoulder, both providing and requesting support. Will buried his fingers in he luxurious long fur, seeking comfort. She purred, quietly, but stopped abruptly. Will tensed. "What's wrong?"

"I feel him."

"But why would he have come alone?"

"He wouldn't, but… I feel him… everywhere. Don't you hear his voice on the wind…? …Pan?"


End file.
